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The BOMB

Welcome to the BOMB.



The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...

About Me

My photo
My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my ten year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”

Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)

  • Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
  • Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
  • Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
  • Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
  • The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)

Friday, October 30, 2015

Day One

It's vacation time again!  I love my job, but I also love my time off. This year I had no idea what I wanted to do. So I went to VRBO (Vacation Rentals By Owner) to see what was available in the way of pet friendly rentals  I wanted something secluded  with  no distractions so I can finally finish the novel I've been not writing for the past couple of years.

I looked at an off grid solar cabin in west Texas. Perhaps a little too secluded.

Then I looked at a renovated narrow gauge railcar in New Mexico. Very cool, but the hot tub was shared with the owners.

I remembered the Arkansas yurt I stayed in and looked to see what else was in the area. I found several possibilities, but nothing that spoke to me.

Same with the beach condos and private beach houses along the east coast.  Nothing seemed to be what I was looking for.

I looked to see if the Ruidoso cabin I rented two years ago was available. I loved that cabin. Nope.

I finally found several cabins in the northern mountains of Georgia. They were all dog-friendly, and six were also cat-friendly. I charted out the cabins that were available during the time I have off and finally made a decision. I'm going to have a blast!  The outside spaces are as cozy as the inside spaces. I can't wait until I go next week. 

So how is this Day One?  I have a little over two weeks off. I had planned to visit Mama in Panama City, and Alicia and Bill in NOLA this week; however, aging relatives in Houston will occupy some of that time, so I'm hanging close to Texas this first week.

Except yesterday. I drove to Monroe, Louisiana to paint one of my favorite Painting With a Twist paintings: Saint Peters Cathedral from Jackson Square. It's a very simple rendition, even simpler from my paint brush.

There is no La Quinta here, so I rented a Motel 6 room. Only I didn't have the room rented when I arrived. Nor did I have a seat reserved for the painting. I just got in the SUV with the FurKids in tow and drove here. That's my kind of vacation.

I came to the first Motel 6 and pulled in to see if they had a room.  It was not the one I had originally thought I would be staying at, which is probably a good thing because, online the original place said their pet policy was no animals to be left alone for any reason. That's unrealistic. What about going out to dinner. Or needing to grab something at a store. Or attend a painting class.

The place in West Monroe did not post any pet restrictions. And I didn't ask. I was running late and only had enough time to rent, set it up for the kids, wash-up, change and drive to PWAT.  Even still, I was about 10 minutes late. This was not the Motel 6 I was supposed to be at--I ended up in West Monroe.  It was the best mistake of the night. They were very nice and helpful.

I arrived at class and finally got situated. I'm kind of iffy about how the painting turned out, but the people I met were very nice.

After class, I went to get dinner. The first place, wouldn't even take my order. Maybe because it was late, I don't know.  I left in a huff. The second place, was just down-right rude. I left in a second huff.
Then I plugged in the address for the hotel into GPS and it took me to the hotel. The wrong hotel. The one I was originally going to stay at, but I had just pulled into the first one I saw.  I realized I had no clue what its address was, since I left everything except the key itself in the room. Monroe has at least 2 Motel 6's. Neither is the one I was in. Then I remembered I crossed the Mississippi River. I needed to return to West Monroe.

Once in West Monroe, I tried another place for dinner--and was accepted with open arms even though it was getting to be really late.  Just goes to show you how different two places can be:  with the exception of the PWAT folks, everyone in Monroe was snotty. But just across the river, in West Monroe, everyone I met was helpful and friendly.

Nice start to my vacation. I plan on exploring a little and driving back to Texas tonight. I still have stuff I need to do before next week.

Besides, isn't West Monroe where the Duck Dynasty folks have their headquarters?  Maybe I'll see Si.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Odd Elevator Noises


Slish-slug… Slish-slug… Slish-slug…

I heard odd noises as the elevator doors closed. They were slow ratcheting noises. I do not find odd elevator noises comforting—especially when the doors are closing at the same moment I realize neither my work cell phone nor my private iPhone are with me—they remained on my desk.

The hair on the back of my neck rose up a fraction as I looked around the empty box.  Attempting to reassure myself,  I told myself the odd noises didn’t mean the elevator was experiencing problems—but even if I did get trapped in the elevator, I was on my way to a late lunch,  so I had my book and the remaining half of my third DDP (Diet Dr Pepper) in hand. What more could I want? In fact, without a way for everyone to contact me, it might even be relaxing and peaceful.

Only, I was down to the last five pages of my book. Optimistically, I hoped five pages would be enough to last through lunch. Realistically, I knew they would not last through a protracted solitary confinement.  Of course, behind the remaining five pages, is the preview for another book....but I was loath to start the preview since I didn't have that particular book in my "To Read" stacks.

You didn't think libraries were the only ones with stacks of unread reading material lying around did you? Okay, so my stacks  are not exactly like the stacks at the library, but that's a minor point.

Anyway, the mental image of my stacks reminded me I need to grab two books from my stacks tonight—I also finished my bedtime book last night. 

Clink.

The elevator doors locked as it prepared for our descent into the basement.  The sound of finality reminded me,  in a day or so, I’ll also finish the audio books I checked out from the library, so I need to check out another half dozen or so.  It was odd I was finishing all my books at once—normally, the end on a staggered time line.  This group evidentially did not get the memo.

Groan. Sigh.  

The elevator sounded tired.  Isn’t this one of the newly replaced elevators? Or was this elevator merely reworked? I feared it was the latter since it was not a main elevator. However, the  marble floors gleamed and the softly muted wall color was relaxing. Perhaps this is the color I should paint my bedroom walls….If I ever get out of here. How long would it be before any one missed me?   My tummy tightened as I realized I could be sealed away from the rest of the world.  Forever.

My minds ear heard Mr. Rogers gently asking, "Can anyone say, 'Melodramatic' boys and girls?"

My nervous titer bounced off the elevator walls.  Squaring my shoulders, I pragmatically reminded myself of the phone in the elevator—a phone I had used before when the elevator actually had gone on strike for a short while. The elevator continued to mosey along at the speed of winter-time molasses.  Even with my bad knees and extra stiffness I thought  I could have made better time hobbling down the two flights of stairs. Maybe not. I guess it could be worse—the elevator could be out of control and plummeting to our final destination. 

Shudder. Clank. Whew.

The elevator rested.  Finally.  It took its time, then gathered it's courage, and ever so slowly it reverse ratcheted its doors open and released me. 

Laughing, I exited the elevator and breathed sigh of relief. I’m not sure, but I think my exhalation rivaled the whew of the elevator. Once again my over active imagination had gotten the best of me—kind of like my over active bladder—which was kicking in right about then.

That's not quite true.  My bladder’s not over active. It’s diuretic enhanced—and it was telling me it had been a while since I had been to the LGR.  Luckily there was one nearby. I darted into the stall, threw my DDP and book onto a shallow ledge, slid the door lock to the closed position, and once again sighed with relief.

Until I remembered the lock on this particular stall sometimes sticks.  In almost ten years, I can count the number of other people I’ve encountered using this bathroom at the same time as I have, on one hand.  I guess I tend to use remote elevators and bathrooms.

Oh well. I still have my half DDP and five pages to while away the time—and an added bonus—now I have a throne on which to sit.

Sunday, October 18, 2015

The Terror Twins Have Been Talking

What are the odds that I would have not one, but two homicidal Furbabies? Seriously. What. Are. The. Odds? 

The first time occurred a couple of years after Bandit took over my life. We were visiting Mama in Florida, while Mama and I went to town, I left Bandit in the bathroom. I made sure he was quite comfortable with his pillow and blankie, food, water, and a toy. When we returned, the toy, a floppy pink flamingo was in the water dish. I assumed it had escaped from The BaldOnes Death Shake (his favorite way to play), or he had tossed it in the air but couldn't catch it due to the confines of the small room. I'm not sure if he tosses the toy on purpose or if it simply escapes the Death Shake. For whatever reason, the flamingo was wet.
The second time occurred a few months later, while we were on another trip. I left to go to a BBQ place, and left Bandit in the bathroom with the same setup:  bedding, food and water, and a couple of toys. Upon my return I found a serial killer had struck. His M. O.:  death by drowning, with the intended victims being pink flamingos. At first I thought perhaps this was a freak accident. However, when I fished Pinky out of the water dish he came out in pieces. For real. Not only was Pinky drowned--his legs had been severed from his body.  This was no accident. Pinky got the Double D--Drowning and Dismemberment. 

In the ensuring years Bandits violence has escalated. He has progressed to the Tripple D Stage:   Drowning, Dismemberment, and Disembowlment. Returning to his carnage is never a pretty picture. 

The destruction of his toys is not the only way he conveys his displeasure with me. A time or two I have come home, to find shredded socks and drowned night clothes. He had to drag my night clothes through three rooms to his water dish.  He was not assigned the chore of doing the laundry, so I finally got it. He was angry with me. 

In an attempt to connect with the "why" of his outrageous behavior, I thought back to his pre-bathroom confinement.  He used to roam the hotel rooms free, just like he does at home. However, one night I returned from dinner out, to find he had peed on my pillow.  Since I knew he had pottied before I left, and I had only been gone a couple of hours, I deduced he was pissed off at me. Pun intended. 

From that time on, when left alone in a hotel, he is confined to the bathroom. 

Until we adopted Moggy. 

With the addition of Moggy, Bandit has a playmate. Or someone to hide under the covers from, depending on how well they are getting along at that particular time. 

Our new morning routine:  I take Bandit outside, while  Moggy eats his kitten food in peace. Once Bandit and I return, I feed Bandit, then I get ready before I leave for the day.  If the night before included a late night potty break for the BadBoy, I might get ready first, then take Bandit outside. However, the constant is Moggy being fed in peace while Bandit goes outside.

Thursday was such a night. After I lost at Bunko (yet again), I returned home and took care of some chores, then I took Bandit outside for a late night potty-break.  Friday morning I bathed and dressed for the day before I took Bandit outside.  When we returned,  I found my night gown in the water dish again. 

Moggy had motive, means, and opportunity. 

Bandit had an airtight alibi. 

However, I do not for one second believe Bandit is totally innocent. I'm pretty sure the TerrorTwins have been talking. 


Monday, October 12, 2015

Vampire Kitty Strikes Again!

Moggy tapped my hand tonight signalling he wanted to play. He was very gentle and his claws were mostly retracted. Mostly. They were out just enough to give a little tickle. I overlooked this because he's been pissed at me ever since the blood moon incident--except at dinner time--then he has been all up in my lap wanting to love on me. 

So tonight, when he politely tapped, we played. Until he invited himself into the recliner with me. Then he stayed still while I petted him. He usually does not like to be petted--unless I am rubbing under his chin. He LOVES to be rubbed and scratched under the chin. So I threw in some chin action, as I also stroked down the length of his back. His tail never twitched (which is his "tell" just before he attacks) so I petted him for quite a while.  

After he had received as much attention as he could stand he stayed close but moved to the arm of the recliner. After all, he might, or might not, want more attention. I picked up my book with the thought to continue reading. 

Meanwhile, Bandit had different plans for my attention and time--he decided HE  was missing out and he needed to get in on the petting action. He came up to the recliner looking like he would join us, but he was puzzled at how to jump over Moggy into my lap. Moggy seemed to know what he was thinking and swiped the air close to Bandit's head as a discouragement. Of course, I could be giving him more credit than he deserves because his claws did not appear to be retracted. He could have simply not had enough reach in his legs. 

I told Moggy "No" and placed my hand between them. Moggy took that as an invitation to take a nip at my hand. I said "NO, Moggy," which he must have misinterpreted to be an invitation to bite me, because he pounced on my hand, wrapping both paws around my wrist, and drew my hand to his mouth, and bit me pretty hard. Not hard enough to break the skin mind you, but definitely harder than allowable in playtime. He has over-sized incisors resembling dime store Vampire teeth. They are also sharp as razors. Luckily, even though he bit harder than he should during playtime, he showed a little restraint. I'm sure that's the only reason Vampire-Kitty did not draw blood. 

Although Moggy showed some restraint, he still bit harder than allowable; therefore, he became (softly) acquainted with my paperback book, which has a few vampire characters in it. 

How apropos

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Death By Snack-sized Whoppers

I bought some of the snack sized candy bars and decided I wanted Whoppers after lunch.  It was an ordeal.


The first end was hermetically and I could not open it. Not a problem.  I  simply flipped the bag over and tried the other end. Once my mind is made up, I will prevail.


It too was cemented shut. A Jack Hammer could not open this bag. How do kids open these things?!


I refuse to be thwarted, so I found my scissor and cut the bag.   Success!


I popped the first Whopper in my mouth, split it with my teeth, allowed the innards to melt as is my preferred way of consuming Whoppers...and preceded to choke! 


I mean really choke. No-passing-air-turning-blue-Heimlich-Remover-time kind of choking. [And yes, I know the correct term is Heimlich Maneuver; however, in Nursing School Janice Newuhiwii called it the Heimlich remover (because that's what it does after all) and I have to stop to think to call it by its right name--so I usually just call it the Remover--besides, it's cuter.]


Finally,  was able to get some air passing--and it truly was a high pitched sound. And then I was able to breath normally. Crisis averted.


I went through all of that  and my reward was three (3) Whoppers


I'm now by myself and leery of attempting another bag. 

Monday, October 5, 2015

Sitting At Attention.

Glancing out the window I spied Bosco, the neighbor Shephard, sitting at attention with ears pricked forward, staring intently at my window. I'm unsure what, if anything, he can see through the lace--shadows, movement, me or the furkids?  Not wanting to appear rude, I said, "Good morning Bosco."

At the sound of my voice, his ears twitched catty-whompus, a puzzled expression crossed his face, and he did the Doggie Head-Tilt.   I'm quite used to seeing the Doggie Head-Tilt. Most dogs perform it at one time or another when they are in my presence.

Or maybe Bosco was reacting to Moggy, who at the very moment I spoke, jumped in front of the lace to sit and preen on the window sill.

Poor pup is probably still wondering how come the cat can talk.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Rule Breakers

This week has been one of breaking rules. Unfortunately, the rule breaker has not been me.

Let's start with Moggy. The night of the Blood Moon I missed it because I was chasing down a kitten bent on not following directions, not coming when I called his name, and just flat out antagonizing me by scampering off in the opposite direction just as my fingers brushed his fur.

Then there's the ever popular Bad Boy:  Bandit--who also refused to respond to his name. He's actually perfected the selective deafness. If I so much as whisper certain words his head jerks up and his ears stand at attention. Words like:  "ride," "outside," and "treat." But the words he turns a deaf ear to include:  "here," "now," and even his own name--"Bandit."

The rule breakers don't just apply to the four-legged boys at home. All week long the attending physicians and residents alike have refused to follow various hospital  protocol.  As a result, it took me three or more requests and at least as many explanations for each task to be accomplished.

And to top it off, I now have a headstrong Office Pet now. This pet was warned to get out of the traffic flow or risk being stepped on. Did Lizzy listen?

No!  My new Supervisor advised Lizzy to move out of the way. Lizzy was unphased.

Karla, A Mother not used to not being obeyed, physically moved Lizzy out of the way. That was only partially successful--within half an hour Lizzy started homesteading in the traffic pattern again. That's when my Social Worker almost ran Lizzy down. She was intent on the task at hand, walking without watching where she was going, and came within a fraction of an inch of impact.

I saw the impending collision and called out to my Social Worker. Katrevas fancy footwork almost tripped her up, but she caught herself just before she plowed into Lizzy.

Did Lizzy thank her for her thoughtfulness?  No.

Did she remove herself from future harm. Ha!
Lizzy planted herself like a statue on the Courthouse Square of any small country town--and she grew roots.

Until Katreva told her to go to get out of the way and the corner, that is.

Lizzy did exactly what Katreva told her to do. In record time. Could Lizzy have done that for me!  In a heart beat!!  Did she?

No.

Some days the Mommy Voice is a bust and NO ONE listens to me--not the kitten I rescued and have provided with a safe home.  Not the spoiled rotten dog whose travels, wardrobe. and pampered lifestyle are the envy of many of my friends and acquaintances.  Not the Doctors who have not figured out I know how to work within the constraints of The System to obtain elusive goodies and services.

And not even the new Office Pet, Lizzy Lizard!

Since everyone else has been breaking the rules, I think it's just about my time to break a few.